He (aside). That seemed to tell. I’ll give her some more. (Glancing in pamphlet, and quoting:)
“But, alas, to make me
A fixed figure for the time of scorn
To point his slow, unmoving finger at!”
She (aside, jumping up with indignation). Why, it is Othello he is quoting! He is acting! He is positively playing a part! It is shameful of him! It’s not real jealousy: it’s a sham. Oh, the wretch! But I’ll pay him back! I’ll make him jealous without any make-believe.
He (aside). I’m getting on capitally. I’m making a strong impression: I am rousing her out of her nervousness. I doubt if she will want any more private theatricals now. I don’t think I shall have to repeat the lesson. This Guide to the Passions is a first-rate book: I’ll keep one in the house all the time.
She (aside). If he plays Othello, I can play Iago. I’ll give his jealousy something to feed on. I have no blank verse for him, but I’ll make him blank enough before I am done with him. Oh, the villain!
He (aside). Now let me try threatening. (Glancing in book:) “Pity the sorrows of a poor old man”—I’ve got the wrong place. That’s not threatening—that’s senility. (Turning over page.) Ah, here it is.
She (aside). And he thinks he can jest with a woman’s heart and not be punished? Oh, the wickedness of man!—(Forcibly.) Oh, if mamma were only here, now!
He (threateningly). Who are these fellows? This Tom, Dick and Harry are—are they—(hesitates, and glances in pamphlet) are they “framed to make women false?”